Myriad
by Equestrienne Dreams
Summary: An archive of drabble-esque ficlets written as commentfic on Tumblr and centred on various characters and relationships, mostly Shulienne and Turnadette.
1. Shelagh & Julienne: Garden

_Shelagh & Julienne: Garden_

* * *

She saw fabric the colour of a summer sky first, a swirl of A-line skirt that flared around Shelagh's knees as the bride turned the corner on the garden path.

"Mrs Turner," Sister Julienne said warmly, and extended a hand. Shelagh took it instantly, settling on the stone bench beside her.

"Please, Sister," she said shyly, and there Julienne heard the dear voice that hadn't changed at all. "You of all people ought to call me Shelagh."

"Perhaps," Julienne agreed, trying and failing to hide her smile, "but Mrs Turner suits you so well."

Shelagh blushed, glancing at the gravel path. "It's such a thrill," she admitted quietly. "Oh, Sister Julienne!"

"You're glowing," Julienne observed. "I see I don't need to ask if you're happy."

Shelagh smiled radiantly, looking at Julienne with shining eyes. "I am," she said with a trembling voice. "Oh, I am so happy!"

Julienne smiled then, covering both of Shelagh's hands with hers. "And I am overjoyed for you, Shelagh." The young bride's voice was not the only one trembling. "After all those months… to see you like this is a blessing indeed."

Shelagh bowed her head, then glanced upward through veiled lashes, and Julienne's breath caught hard in her throat. The new confidence and joy in Shelagh's eyes lit up her face with a glow that defied the pale winter sunlight, and if Julienne had ever regretted letting Sister Bernadette go, she found she couldn't any longer, not with Shelagh Turner shining like a sunbeam beside her.

"Come," Julienne said on impulse, rising from the bench. "Let us walk?"

Shelagh smiled and rose, her hands still in Julienne's, and Julienne looked up at the cloudless sky, then around at the stark beauty of the blossomless woody stems. Against the brown and white Shelagh looked like a blossom out of high summer, blue suit and creamy skin and golden hair alight. She remembered with a shudder of horror the last time she had walked in a garden with Shelagh. The plants had been in full bloom, but the young woman who meant so much had been dying before her eyes. Now, months later, the garden they walked in lay dormant, but Shelagh herself was blooming, more alive than Julienne had ever seen her.

"I had such a wonderful time," Shelagh blurted, turning to face Julienne. "But oh, Sister, I am so glad to be home!"

"And I am glad to have you home," Julienne admitted, swallowing a lump in her throat. "Oh, Shelagh, I am so very glad!"


	2. Shelagh & Julienne: Chéri

_Shelagh & Julienne: Chéri  
_

* * *

"Sister." Running his fingers through his hair, Patrick Turner answered the door with profound relief on his face. "I'm so glad you're here. She's been asking for you."

"How is she?" Julienne shucked her overcoat, waving him aside and hanging it on a nearby coat rack.

The doctor sighed. "Medically speaking, she has a low-grade fever and she can't keep down anything but toast and ginger tea, but she'll be right as rain in a few days. Timothy had the same virus last week, no wonder she's come down with it. As to the other…" He turned brown eyes on Julienne and sighed heavily. "She is absolutely miserable and she wants her mother."

"Well," said Julienne a little hoarsely, "I'm here now."

"Yes, and I thank God for it. Timothy's been staying with his grandmother while Shelagh took ill, so no worries there. I have some errands to run - it'll keep me out of your hair for a few hours."

"You really don't have to -" began Julienne, but he cut her off.

"Sister," he said patiently, "if she needed me, if I might do her any good at all right now, I'd never leave her side. But it's not me she needs. I can only be incredibly grateful that you were able to come."

"I could hardly be anywhere else," Julienne said briskly, to hide the tremble in her voice. "Upstairs, I believe?"

"And to the left." He nodded, smiled briefly, and slipped out the door.

Shelagh was just as miserable as her husband had reported. Eyes bright with fever, dewed with sweat, the young nurse had to choke back tears as Julienne softly closed the door and fairly well flew to her side.

As gently as she could, Julienne settled herself on the bed, and lost her breath when Shelagh unceremoniously settled her head in Julienne's lap, curled up on her side, and began to cry in earnest.

"Darling," murmured Julienne, softly stroking the damp blonde hair. "Oh, Shelagh."

"Thank you," she rasped. "Oh, Sister, I…"

"Hush," Julienne whispered. "You needed me. Of course I came."

Not too long after that Shelagh began to doze, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of Julienne stroking her hair. Julienne looked down at the shining head in her lap, at the contentment on the young woman's face, and bent over to gently kiss her damp temple.

"Oh, my girl," she whispered, and finally managed in French what she could not yet say in English. "Oh, my girl. Je t'aime tellement, ma fille chéri!"

In her sleep, Shelagh smiled.

* * *

_Quick note: I've left the French untranslated here, but it roughly translates to, "I love you so, my darling girl!" Hope you all enjoyed this bit of self-indulgent fluffery._


	3. Julienne & Patrick: Blessing

_Julienne & Patrick: Blessing  
_

* * *

"Sister Julienne."

She looked up from her embroidery, more than a little startled. With all the young nurses – this time including a rather thrilled Shelagh – out for the evening, Nonnatus House was unusually quiet, and she'd certainly not expected to see Dr Turner here at this hour of the night.

"My apologies for interrupting you, and so late," he continued, obviously embarrassed, "but I needed to speak with you alone."

"Please." Julienne laid her embroidery aside and gestured for him to take a seat, which he did. "How can I help you, Doctor?"

His face flickered with indecision for a long moment, and she waited patiently, well used to allowing people to come to her, and not the other way around.

"It's about Shelagh," he said at last. "I want – Sister, I intend to ask her to marry me. But I couldn't – I am an old-fashioned man, and in most circumstances I would go to the lady's father. That isn't possible, and in any case, even if it were, I would think – it's you I should ask."

She had known. Of course she had known it would come to this. But faced with the reality of this kind, earnest man sitting opposite her, looking at her with pleading eyes, Julienne found herself reeling nonetheless.

"And for what, exactly, are you asking, Doctor?" In truth, Julienne is surprised her voice doesn't even wobble.

"For your blessing. Sister, if Shelagh truly wants me, I could not walk away. Her opinion is the one that truly matters. But you mean so much to her, Sister Julienne, and it only seems right to ask you, when you have been her family for so long."

Julienne bows her head for a moment, more than a little overcome. "You truly love her, don't you." It's not a question.

"More than life," is his response. "For Sister Bernadette and for Shelagh, for the midwife and for the nun and for the woman. For everything she is."

Quietly, Julienne squeezes her eyes shut and prays for the strength to let her little girl go. She knows, oh, how she knows that this man is Shelagh's destiny, but that doesn't make the pain of parting any less.

"If you hurt her," Julienne says at last, her voice raw, "Doctor, if you hurt my girl in any way, you will answer to me, so help me God."

He smiles at that, a little shy and still a little baffled, as though he can't believe he's really having this conversation. "I expected no less."

"Then my heartfelt blessing goes with you both." He looks up, astonishment writ large over his face, and in that moment she, too, can see what has drawn Shelagh to this kind, gentle, dedicated man. They are matched, both of them, in kindness and strength and mutual passion for their work. _Only healers can truly understand other healers, _Julienne thinks then. _And these two are truly cut from the same cloth. Oh, bless them both, Lord, for no one deserves it more._

"I didn't think anyone could possibly deserve her." She looks him directly in the eyes and gives him the unvarnished truth. "I was wrong." Rising, she goes to him, bringing him to his feet, and kisses him gently on the cheek. "She was yours long before she was mine, Doctor. The Lord saw to that. And I am – I am truly overjoyed for you both."

"She will always be yours, Sister," he says, his voice wobbling. "You are as much a part of her as her calling. Don't think I don't know it is you who gave her wings."

Julienne bows her head, then swallows hard. "And now she is meant to fly." Looking up again, she meets his gaze, and in that moment they are united in love for one remarkable woman.

"Thank you," he says hoarsely. "Thank you for trusting me with her."

"Oh, Doctor." If there is one thing that can soothe the ache in Julienne's heart, it is this. "It could only have been you."

* * *

Shelagh says yes, to nobody's surprise, least of all Julienne's. She knows the Lord's work when she sees it.

As she places the bride's hand in her husband's, Shelagh turns to kiss her cheek, and for a long moment they have eyes only for each other. In that look is everything they have been to each other over the past decade and more, and though neither speaks aloud, Shelagh says, clear as a bell, _this is not goodbye. Never goodbye, not for us._

_No, _thinks Julienne, absolute peace in her heart. _You are moving on, my dearest one, but we can never say goodbye. Not when we are part of each other._


	4. Shelagh & Julienne: Melody

_Shelagh & Julienne: Melody  
_

* * *

It isn't often she hears Shelagh singing these days. Once, she remembers, she'd heard that voice every day, several times a day, soaring in prayer, and even all these years later, it was still a little strange not to hear her voice leading the choir.

But she is singing now, a teapot in one hand, rinsing and scrubbing to leave the pot fresh. She is singing of dreams and hope and love, a song that Julienne has listened to far more often than she cared to admit.

_And, _Julienne thinks, a little wistfully, _a song that has always made me think of her. _

Nonnatus is fairly well empty, and this time – _just this once, _she promises herself, _only this, I promise – _she gives in to her heart and joins in the song.

"A dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life, for as long as you live…"

Shelagh whirls and nearly drops the teapot, her face a study in astonishment and, increasingly, incredulous joy. Tears are brimming in those brilliant blue eyes – those eyes that had struck Julienne to the heart from the first moment they'd met – and Shelagh takes in a deep breath, laying teapot and towel aside and steadying herself against the counter.

Quietly, then with growing strength, their voices twine together.

"Climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow, 'til you find your dream!"

Softly Julienne pads across the floor, reaching out to take Shelagh's hands in her own, as she had done so very many times before. No matter what else they couldn't say, couldn't do, couldn't touch, there was always this, hands joined in prayer or joy or simple comfort. From postulant to novice to sister to Shelagh, there has always been this; in a chapel wrestling with love the young woman couldn't name, in that same chapel placing Shelagh's hand in her husband's, on a bed on Kenilworth Row clinging together through pain and fear and praying the Hail Mary – always, _always _there has been this.

Now here they were again, voices raised in song together for the first time in years, and Julienne feels as though her heart might burst with love. The melody is so sweet it is pain, a reminder not only of what has been lost but, more than anything else, of what has been found.

It is Shelagh's voice that soars on the last notes, high above Julienne's harmony.

_You found yours, _Julienne thinks, as Shelagh's last, crystal-clear note echoes from the rafters. _You did, my girl, and followed it with more courage than anyone could have asked of you. _

The last echoes fade but they do not move, standing there in the kitchen with hands clasped, lost for words.

"'My daughter, if you love this man, it does not mean you love God less,'" Julienne whispers at last, and Shelagh blinks once and buries her face in Julienne's shoulder, shaking with silent sobs.

That's when she lets go of Shelagh's hands to hold her close, stroking the silky blonde hair, and for a moment it is six years ago and the young woman in her arms is racked with agony and doubt. _What I wouldn't have given to have had those words to say to you then! _Julienne thinks, a little wildly, and holds Shelagh closer, and closer still.

They stay like that, holding each other, for quite a long time.

* * *

They never speak of that day again. It is too precious, far too precious, to be spoken of aloud – the kind of moment, indeed, that can never be done justice with mere words.

But every so often, when they are alone and everything is quiet, one or the other of them will begin to hum, and they will smile at each other in silent, foolish memory.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _This is ALL detectivejane's fault. I have quite a love-hate relationship with this little bit, but in the end I couldn't resist the parallels. *ducks tomatoes*  
_


	5. Shelagh & Patrick: Morning

_Shelagh & Patrick: Morning  
_

* * *

She wakes to the soft touch of lips on her cheek, brushing over the arch of her cheekbone and temple. Her eyes flutter open, squinting a little into the sunlight and trying to make sense of the beige-and-brown blur in front of her.

Gentle hands slide her glasses over her nose, and she smiles in delight as the blur resolves into Patrick's face. His hand is still lingering on her cheek, and he is smiling at her so brilliantly that if she'd been standing her knees would have buckled.

"Good morning, my love," he murmurs huskily, and she chokes out a little burble of happiness and kisses the tip of his nose just for the sheer joy of it.

"The best morning," she echoes him, a little giddily, and he laughs too, just too happy to contain it.

"And just the first of many." Still beaming, he kisses her gently, and she sinks into him, overwhelmed with joy.

"The first of every morning," she whispers, because she can see it all now, years stretching in front of her and waking up next to this man she loves for every day of them, or as near as can be managed to it with who they are and the work they share.

He makes an overwrought little noise in the back of his throat and kisses her urgently, his hand stroking her cheek before running down the line of her neck, her shoulder, her flank. She shivers wherever he touches her and kisses him back with a whimper, because he touches her like she is something worth adoring.

The kiss spins out like a dream, leaving them both smiling at each other a little bit foolishly when it ends.

"We have a train to catch," she murmurs, right before she leans in to kiss him again.

"Not for hours," he mumbles into her mouth, drawing her closer so she sinks into his warmth with a contented sigh. "We've time yet, my darling." Their lips part and he looks at her quite seriously. "Darling," he says again, and she's more than a little startled to see tears brimming in his eyes. "Oh, Shelagh, my love!" His voice cracks on the last word and then she is crying too, tears spilling over to catch in her lashes and run down her cheek.

"Patrick," she says, and then again because she can: "_Patrick."_

"I thought I couldn't love you more than I did yesterday," he blurts suddenly, not entirely sure where the words are coming from. "But I look at you today and I do. Somehow I do." His hand drags through the silk of her hair and she trembles in delight. "Shelagh. Is it too soon for me to want you again?"

"No." She shakes her head on a giddy laugh, kisses his mouth wildly and presses herself full length against him. He gasps and shudders with the feel of her and she kisses him again, more ardently this time. "No. Never too soon."

She laughs when he rolls her underneath him, her heart fluttering like a songbird's wings.

And then – oh, and then! – everything is holy light, and they cannot speak at all.


	6. The Turners: Routine

_The Turners: Routine  
_

* * *

"Mummy Shelagh!" Timothy came tearing down the stairs in a clatter of shoes on wood, poking his head into the kitchen with a frantic expression on his face. "Mummy Shelagh, have you seen – "

Silently Shelagh handed him the missing textbook, raising one eyebrow in a manner eerily reminiscent of Sister Julienne. He at least had the grace to blush as he took it from her, but she couldn't hold the stern expression, and Timothy laughed as she broke into smiles. "Next time you might try keeping it with your other school things," remarked Shelagh as she handed over a plate of eggs on toast. "Now sit and eat."

Timothy obeyed, somehow managing to wolf down his breakfast whilst tying his shoes and cramming his book into his school bag at the same time.

"Morning, darling!" Patrick hurried into the kitchen just as Timothy was rinsing his plate in the sink. "Have you seen – "

"By the sofa," Shelagh said calmly, dishing up two more plates of eggs on toast. "Where you put it last night, instead of by the door as you normally do."

Patrick blinked. "I could swear I – never mind. Thank you, darling."

Shelagh shook her head, trying and failing to hide her amusement. "You're very welcome. Do you intend to eat sometime this morning?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes." Taking her hand, he tugged her to him and kissed her swiftly, ignoring Timothy's squeals of disgust.

"Go on with you, then," she said, blushing bright red. "And here's breakfast. What have you got this morning?"

"Oh, I'll be at the surgery, I have appointments all morning. Are you on rounds?"

"No, that's Trixie this morning. I believe Sister Julienne and I are on call today."

"Lucky mothers," he remarked, looking at her with bright, soft eyes, and she ducked her head and blushed again.

"Come for lunch? Jenny's off, we'll be one less in any case."

Before he could answer, Timothy threw himself into Shelagh's arms, kissed her cheek, and ran out the door, calling, "Bye, Mummy Shelagh! Bye, Dad!" over his shoulder as he went.

Patrick blinked after him, slightly befuddled. "What on Earth has him so excited?"

"They're dissecting frogs today," Shelagh informed him.

Pure understanding spread over her husband's face. "That would do it," he agreed, moving his chair closer to hers. "And yes, I would love to join you for lunch." Pausing for a moment in the silence, he reached out to cup her cheek in his hand. "Shelagh, my darling…"

With a little cry of surprise she flung herself at him, kissing him hard and sweet as she melted against him. He caught her and held her close, his hand sliding into her hair and completely wrecking her French twist.

Too caught up in him to care, she sat on his lap, breaking off the kiss to rest her head on his shoulder and close her eyes in bliss.

He kissed her now utterly-dishevelled hair, then the bridge of her nose. "Oh, Mrs Turner," he breathed. "You are something else entirely."

"And you're…" Straightening, she looked him in the eyes, then lost her words entirely. "You are…"

"So are you," Patrick said quietly, understanding her perfectly.

Smiling and just a little teary-eyed, she kissed him, soft and fleeting.

They spent the next few minutes putting dishes to soak in the sink, working companionably side-by-side in a comfortable silence, brushing hands and sharing glances every so often.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.


	7. Shulienne & Turnadette: Evening

_Shulienne & Turnadette: Evening  
_

* * *

Nonnatus was quiet, the world still for a few short hours. Compline would begin in little more than an hour.

Julienne drew in long, deep breaths, tension released at last after a stressful day. Cynthia was still out, at a complicated delivery with Sister Evangelina and Dr Turner, but with Julienne herself on call and the other young nurses tucked in their beds (or giggling on one bed; Julienne would ask no questions to which she did not want an answer), for a moment, she had this world within a world to herself.

She was given quite a start, then, when she walked into the sitting room with her embroidery basket to see a small blonde figure sleeping on the sofa, one hand covering the swell of her abdomen, the other tucked by her cheek.

Long lashes fluttered as Julienne set the basket down, and then Shelagh blinked open clear blue eyes, the sleepy mists clearing as she recognised where she was and who was kneeling next to her.

"Sister Julienne," she rasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Nonsense, my dear," Julienne murmured, mindful of the hush that had fallen over the house. "Were you waiting for the Doctor?"

"Yes." Shelagh bit her lip, casting her gaze to the floor. "He urged me to go home, but Timothy is with his grandmother tonight, so I needn't watch him, and without Patrick - "

"Shelagh." Julienne's voice was as soothing as she could make it. "What is it, dear child?"

"I can't sleep very well without him," she blurted at last. "Being alone in our bed - I try not to, if ever I can avoid it. It feels wrong, without him there."

Blinking back the sting of moisture from her eyes - dear Lord, she has been more suspect to tears in the last eighteen months than she had in the eighteen years before that - Julienne settled herself on the sofa, and, taking advantage of the privacy, wrapped a comforting arm around Shelagh's shoulders. The young woman curled into the embrace, her head resting on Julienne's shoulder, and Julienne's free hand found its way of its own accord to cover Shelagh's on the pregnant swell of her belly.

"I am on call tonight," she told the young woman quietly, "and I cannot promise that I will not have to leave. But you need sleep, Shelagh, more than ever now, for your baby as well as yourself. If I stay with you until your husband returns, will you sleep here?"

Shelagh turned brilliant blue eyes on her then, shining with love and gratitude, and nodded shyly. Seemingly unable to find words, she nevertheless tucked herself closer and let her eyes close, drifting back into slumber.

Tenderly Julienne stroked her cheek, then the shining golden hair, as Shelagh slept on.

Sister Evangelina and Cynthia made it back within the hour, the sister sitting her bag down before finding her prayer veil for Compline, the latter vanishing like a ghost down the hall to her room, no doubt ready for her own bed and some sleep. Both took one look at the two figures on the couch - one asleep, one lost in thought - and prudently decided to leave well enough alone.

So it was, then, that when Patrick Turner returned, Julienne had only barely registered the nurses' return scant minutes earlier. He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight that greeted him with a smile of adoring wonder on his face, before he came to kneel at his wife's side.

"Strange," said Julienne softly. "She woke when I came in at no more than the noise of my embroidery basket, but she is still sleeping soundly."

Smiling a smile so gentle it touched Julienne's heart, he softly touched his wife's hair. "She feels safe now, you see," he said simply, and Julienne found herself blinking back tears for the second time in less than an hour.

"I see," was all she could manage. "Do we need to wake her?"

"No, of course not," Patrick answered her. "I'll take her home." And so saying, he carefully lifted Shelagh off the sofa, cradling her gently in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder.

"Wait," Julienne said abruptly, and he paused, raising an enquiring eyebrow. Before she could think the better of it, Julienne kissed her fingertips, then pressed them to Shelagh's abdomen. "Godspeed," she whispered, and bowed her head in prayer.

"She couldn't have if it had been anyone else," Patrick said suddenly, and Julienne blinked.

"Pardon?"

"She couldn't have slept," he clarified, looking faintly embarrassed but resolute all the same, "if she wasn't - with someone she trusted completely. I thought you might like to know."

Julienne paused, flashing back on nights a decade earlier, when a young novice woke with nightmares too often for comfort and was the first up anytime the telephone shrilled. Over the years Shelagh had slept a bit easier, slowly but surely, but only rarely had Julienne known her to sleep as soundly as she was now.

And only now did Julienne realise the significance of the fact that nobody else had ever seen such a thing, commenting that Shelagh was always an uneasy sleeper. Only in Julienne's presence had she seemed to sleep soundly.

"I think I already did know, Doctor," Julienne said quietly. "But I can't tell you what it means to have it confirmed." Patrick Turner turned the full force of his smile on her in that moment, and Julienne couldn't help but smile back. "Come. She should be home, and as soon as possible."

Together they settled Shelagh in the passenger seat of the MG; she stirred a little, then re-settled herself and drifted off again.

"Thank you again, Sister," Patrick said, and clearly meant it.

"Doctor," said Julienne, and she had never meant anything more, "believe me, the pleasure was all mine."

And even when the MG had vanished into the dark, Julienne stood in the doorway of Nonnatus, watching, for quite some time.


End file.
